


Totally Adducted (To You)

by Heliophile



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Almost a pwp, M/M, Slight shades of d/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:32:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heliophile/pseuds/Heliophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(If only) "blokes did that in the gym all the time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Totally Adducted (To You)

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to the lovely people who gave me prompts and feedback. I never set out to write an (almost) pwp with slight shades of d/s, but somehow that's what happened. 
> 
> This kept me smiling at the gym for a while - just was well no-one can actually tell what you're thinking ...

“Come on, mate, you know fifty's the new forty. Put your back into it, you lazy sod! You'll thank me when we've earned a whole lot of extra indulgence come Friday.”

Bodie gritted his teeth. He _was_ bloody well putting his back into it, dammit. Ray was as bad as his old sergeant-major, as bad as ... well, no. Nobody was as bad as Macklin. Or not quite ... and Ray was doing it all right along with him, to be fair, though you'd think a bloke could ease off a bit at their age ... hell, Ray was fifty-three and showing no signs of letting up whatsoever. He'd slowed down a bit, of course, they both had – ah, but not where it counted, though, eh? Still in pretty decent shape, still sharp, even if they did use their guns a bit more often on the range than on the street these last few years. Hard to believe they were pushing the same age now that Cowley'd been when they started, that retirement was looming on the distant horizon for them now too ...

“Oi, cloth-ears! No slacking off!”

Oh, Ray was enjoying this, the bastard. Loved his clean living, did Ray, these days – watched what he ate – what they both ate – had cut down on the booze a bit, too, and was forever reminding Bodie it was worth it to miss out on some of the hangovers. Swore blind it was what kept him going in the bedroom an' all, and if there was even half a grain of truth in that then Bodie wasn't complaining. He knew he was in better shape himself than he'd ever expected to be by now – hadn't even expected to make it this far, to be honest, when he'd thought about it at all. Oh he had a lot to thank Ray for all right, and privately he admitted that it wasn't just for bolstering his occasionally flagging resolve in the gym; kept each other sane, they did, dealing with the aftermath of running ops – that didn't always succeed – and all the bloody diplomatic rubbish ... christ only knew how Cowley had ever stood it! And Ray indulged him in his little foibles too, he considered with a grin – probably looked more like a grimace right now, of course – he glanced at the timer; almost up to the half-way mark, and that would be the bloody rowing machine ticked off the list. For today.

Rewards afterwards, then. Funny how people always expected it to be Ray dragging him off to the British Museum and the like, but it was Bodie who'd started indulging a fascination with Roman history – well, Roman military history, anyway, but that led on to all the other stuff. They'd done Fishbourne, on a too-rare break away from London and work, and that other place – the one with that great pub with the amazing beer, the Erskine Arms, that was it – and the London Museum so many times Ray'd drawn the line when the staff started greeting them as regulars.

Finally. Sodding machine. Managed a respectable distance, though, Bodie noted as he strolled over to find himself a place on the weights circuit. Ray was one machine ahead of him as they went round, and Bodie took great delight in deliberately and ostentatiously setting the resistance of each of them just one click higher. A heavier build – _slightly_ heavier, mind – had some advantages after all ... 'course Ray never spotted that he occasionally only made as if to change the setting; he always made sure to change it up to where it ought to be before moving on. Ray never wore his glasses in the gym; he'd never notice. Bodie had long since learned that changing the setting _down_ before moving on if there was a bird on the circuit behind him would garner nothing but filthy looks, though. He didn't get that; weren't birds always making a fuss about how a courteous bloke would put the loo seat down after using it? Wasn't this the same thing? But birds didn't seem to appreciate it, for some reason. Bodie dismissed the vagaries of modern totty from his mind and concentrated on enjoying the view to take his mind off the reps still to come. Loving the _results_ of exercise, or enjoying a hike or a fight or a climb had never meant you had to enjoy bloody reps in the gym ... but Ray working the hip-flexor machine was a pretty inspiring sight, grey hair and all – seen from behind, muscles bunching and arse clenching as his thighs opened and closed, or – handy thing having all these mirrors all over the place – from the front too, chest heaving, eyes closed in concentration, package nicely on display in those soft tracksuit trousers. Let the kids wear lycra - Bodie shuddered – they were all very well to look at, but looking at Ray and knowing what every inch of that body felt like to the touch, tasted like ...

A hand cuffed him lightly round the ear and he looked up, blinking away his reverie. “Come on, last one – shift yourself, mate, you're holding up the queue. Sorry love,” Ray added to the woman wiping her forehead on her sleeve and waiting for the machine Bodie was about to relinquish. “ 'E gets a bit forgetful at his age – ”

“Oi, less of that, you – three years on me, he's got,” Bodie added with a devastating smile, “but he doesn't like to admit to it in the presence of such a – ”

“Bodie. Last station and we're out of here. On the machine, now”

There was a hint of steel in Ray's voice on that last sentence, and Bodie responded to it as he always did. On duty, that warning tone from either of them would have the other snap to full awareness in an instant; the sharks in the corridors of Whitehall had proved even deadlier, if anything, than any they had encountered in Limehouse pubs or the clubs of the West End. But off-duty that tone meant something quite different ... Bodie's full attention was on Ray in a nanosecond. Jesus H. Christ on a bike, _here_? In the bloody _gym_?

Ray held his gaze implacably, and Bodie swallowed. There was a moment when he could have looked away – occasionally one or the other might decline this particular invitation – but then the moment was past, and Bodie knew he'd never really intended to turn it down. There wasn't much Ray could come up with to make him do in public, after all ... Then Ray jerked his head the merest fraction towards the last machine on the circuit, a complicated affair combining hip flexor and pec fly. As Bodie walked over to it, Ray leaned over and very deliberately reduced the weight by two settings. He looked at Bodie again; by three.

“Reckon you've been slacking off a bit lately, mate. Anyone can rush through a quick ten-reps set with the machine on high, but I think you could do with a nice _long_ set on here. Bit more challenging, isn't it?”

And Ray leaned up against the wall by the machine, and looked at him as he got into position, hands already sweating. Thank god looking red-faced and sweaty was perfectly normal in the gym, no-one would give it a second thought ... and the machine faced the wall, so unless someone was gazing in the mirrors, as he had been a few moments ago, the only person who could see his face, could flick their gaze down to linger on his crotch, was Ray. Who was looking him over sternly. Anyone else would just see one mate urging another on to do a few more reps – blokes did that in the gym all the time. No-one would guess – _probably_ no-one, _almost_ certainly no-one would guess – that Bodie was under orders.

Bodie fucking loved being under orders. _These_ orders, from _this_ man. He set his feet in the stirrups.

“Arms too.” Oh god yes. Feigning reluctance, Bodie reached up and put his hands on the grips for the top section of the machine. With the weights at rest, this position forced him to lean back a little until he was reclining slightly, arms and legs spread open wide. His genitals felt hot and heavy under Ray's gaze. Thank god for the concealment of loose tracksuit trousers ...

“On you go, then. I'm watching you, make sure you do it right.”

Ray had set the machine to three clicks lower than he usually did – but he usually just did a couple of sets of ten reps each with a break in between, exerting himself to the utmost in short bursts. Bodie knew this was going to be a lot more than ten ...

After twenty reps, Bodie was only just beginning to feel it. This was still well within his usual level, after all ... he tried to keep his breathing steady, this should be _easy_ , why did this feel so much harder than it should? Just because Ray was watching him like that .... After thirty, he glanced at Ray again. And Ray – Ray was eating him alive with his eyes, and Bodie was already breathing hard. Thirty-five. He could feel Ray's gaze almost like a hand caressing his cock. Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty – there could be something to keep your feet and hands fixed in position on a machine like this, they could be strapped in – just to ensure correct positioning, of course, and to avoid any risk of cramp in the fingers – there could be a wide band holding his upper body against the back-rest, he wouldn't be able to undo it with his hands restrained, it would force him to keep his back straight – Bodie straightened his back a little – and of course he'd be grateful for its protecting his back muscles against any sudden, uncontrolled movement – but he'd be tied there, helpless, unable to bring his arms in front of him or to close his legs except by making the increasingly impossible effort to work the machine, to raise the weights ... forty-three, forty-four, forty-five ... Bodie was trembling with effort now, and christ if he got any harder anyone in the gym could see, anyone could see him here, spread wide, at Ray's mercy. And Ray was never merciful, thank god.

Bodie was grunting with the strain of each rep now, unable to stop the sounds escaping on every exhalation, every time he brought the grips in to the centre line. And he knew what he sounded like, knew that only Ray would recognise these noises, only Ray knew what he sounded like when ... forty-six, forty-seven ... his muscles were burning and his breath was coming in sobs, his singlet was soaked with sweat and even his tracksuit trousers were getting damp. Bodie glimpsed himself in the mirror and closed his eyes. He could see how he looked in that mirror image, see himself as Ray could see him, mouth open, chest heaving, hair plastered to his forehead and wet singlet concealing nothing as it clung to his torso, damp patches at waist and groin as the sweat pooled. He could feel a drop of moisture run down between his buttocks, reach his anus ...

Forty-nine, fifty. Bodie tried desperately to summon the strength to make it fifty-one, but his arms refused to obey him. He opened his eyes, and Ray's own eyes were black. _Breathe_. For a long long moment, nothing existed but that gaze, opening him up, looking deep inside and letting him in in turn, their eyes meeting ... And then, after what seemed like an age, he found he could move again; about to dismount, Bodie saw from the merest flicker in Ray's gaze what he wanted, and stopped. Let his head fall back. Kept his hand on the grips and his feet in the stirrups, feeling the pleasant stretch in hard-used muscles as the weights settled down on their stacks, keeping him splayed open to Ray's gaze. His cock pulsed, once – god, to be so exposed, so _visible_ .... Ray's hands were in his own tracksuit pockets, tenting the fabric – to distract the eye from the outline of his own definite interest, Bodie thought with an inward smile.

There was a clink of weights from the stack of the next machine over; the god-awful background music became audible again, and Bodie's heart gradually slowed. Ray cleared his throat – twice – but his voice when he spoke was still rough:

“I know you had your heart set on seeing all that new stuff at the BM this afternoon, mate, but I was thinking of a bit of a change of plan – maybe we could do that tomorrow? Quite like to head back for a bit, have a bit of a lie-down ...

Bodie grinned. “Bit of a lie-down, d'you reckon? Could be a good idea.”

No, sessions with Macklin had never been anything like this.

If they could just get home without being arrested, Bodie reckoned, he was in for a _very_ interesting afternoon.

 


End file.
